


Cafuné

by briizy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briizy/pseuds/briizy
Summary: Derek kind of wishes he had a photographic memory so he could recall the way Dex's face looked when he slept.In retrospect, that thought is actually pretty creepy, but he swears he means it in the way a sane, normal, totally lovestruck person means it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for NurseyWeek on tumblr! speaking of tumblr! check mine out!
> 
> i'm at [sinbinhagelin](http://sinbinhagelin.tumblr.com/)

Dex tromps into the Haus, slamming the door shut and tossing his bag haphazardly on the floor, kicking it out of the way as he passes. He’s scowling, which, frankly, isn’t that unusual, but his expression has an edge of something that tugs at Derek. Dex doesn’t even spare him a glance as he flops down at the other end of the couch with an exasperated growl, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Silence fills the space between them for a moment.

“So, how was your day?” Derek asks.

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, mine was good, too.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Derek scans the defeated slope of Dex’s body as it’s sprawled over the couch, frowning to himself. Huh. He drops the fake cheer from his voice and puts his notebook down on the end table behind him.

“Dex, hey. What happened?” he asks, voice softer now, quiet even in the relative silence of the Haus mid-day. Dex cracks one amber eye open and gives him a look, squinting semi-suspiciously at him. Derek waits him out, tilting his head and trying to look open for conversation.

* * *

 

Bitty would say that the two of them took a long while to warm up to each other, but Derek disagrees. Their relationship was never cold, never consisted of icy silences and freezing glares across rooms and tables and benches. They had always been an inferno, a fire that burned brighter and brighter every time they clashed, the flames of their conflicts sparking new arguments and disagreements until finally they burned themselves right out. It had been Dex, actually, who had stopped in the middle of shouting and released both the breath he had taken and the defensive tension in his shoulders. He had looked angry, fierce expression still in place, but his hands and jaw were no longer clenched.

“Why are we doing this, Nurse? What the fuck are we gaining from it?” He had asked wearily in a tone Derek had never heard from him before. Derek had blinked and raised a cool eyebrow.

“You tell me, bro.” Derek had scoffed, but he could feel the resentment leaving him even as he watched Dex sigh and sit down on the bench nearby. Derek had cautiously followed him over and left a good amount of space between them when he perched on the opposite end of the seat.

What followed was probably one of the most adult conversations Derek has had thus far in his life. It took about an hour for them to get to a place where they could work together on the ice, which is really all Derek ever expected, given their contentious start. He never expected that the stilted, weirdly exposing talk they had would turn them into some hybridization of teammate and friend; the “friend” part only increased the more time they spent hanging out together. Most of the time, Chowder was with them as a sort of buffer, but as the weeks went by and their freshman year drew to a close, the two of them had built a sort of rapport, a give and take of good-natured chirping and the occasional genuine exasperation.

Part way through their sophomore season, Derek feels comfortable calling Dex one of the closest people to him, even though its rare they find a common interest beyond hockey. Even now, when Derek looks at Dex, traces the freckles across his cheeks and watches the red of his hair change with the light, he can feel that same _burn_ that fired so many of their arguments. In the rare moments of quiet solitude he can find, wrapped in a blanket in his room or pressed against the sunlit windows of Founders, Derek lets himself feel that passion again, lets himself think about what might happen if maybe, just maybe, Dex still felt it too.

* * *

 

“I just–” Dex sighs, shuffles his feet. “I just had a shit day, that’s all. One of those when nothing goes right.” He scrubs a hand over his face, mussing his hair up in every direction as he tips his head back to rest on the couch again.

“Come over here.”

“What?”

“Come on, you heard me.” Derek gestures at the couch cushion next to him, turning so he’s sitting normally instead of curled up like he usually is as he works. “Lay down, put your head here,” he says, patting his thigh.

“…why?” Dex asks suspiciously.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Derek responds. “Come on, man, I’m not gonna fuck with you.” Dex stares at him for a second or two before he clearly gives up trying to understand, tired of dealing with the day’s troubles. He clambers over, flopping down next to Derek and pressing his cheek to Derek’s thigh. Even through the thick cotton of his sweatpants, Derek can already feel the heat of him.

“Nah, on your back,” Derek coaxes softly. Dex huffs up at him.

“Bossy,” he says.

“I prefer the term ‘natural leader,’ asshole,” Derek chides, poking at Dex’s shoulder until he flips over again. “There you go,” he adds, satisfied. Dex squints up at him again, lips tilting into a soft moue.

Derek wordlessly draws his fingertips lightly over Dex’s eyebrows and down, catching on his lashes and causing Dex to close his eyes.

“Just relax,” Derek murmurs. “My mom used to do this for me whenever I couldn’t fall asleep. It helped me, at least. Maybe it’ll help you, too.” Dex’s brow furrows as he opens his mouth to ask a question, but Derek shushes him. “Nope, quiet time,” he says. Dex quirks the corner of his mouth up at that and settles back onto Derek’s thigh, shoulders relaxing slightly. Derek allows himself a small, private smile and focuses in on his task.

He begins at the bridge of Dex’s nose, resting the tip of his finger in the middle of it before he draws it up and over Dex’s right eyebrow, a feather-light touch that isn’t anywhere near hard enough to call a massage but not soft enough to tickle instead of soothe. Derek continues the stroke in a small circle at Dex’s temple, creating an unceasing line that runs up and across Dex’s hairline, over his other temple, down his cheekbone, and ends at the bridge of his nose in the same spot he started. Dex’s brow wrinkles again, but Derek smooths it out with another pass of his fingers, gently running them across Dex’s forehead.

Derek’s focus narrows down to the freckled face below him as he brings his other hand into it, creating mirroring patterns on both sides of Dex’s face as he maps out the curves and edges with the pads of his fingers. He loses himself in the feeling, never putting any real pressure on Dex’s skin, letting himself indulge in the fantasies of tracing the shapes in the freckles on his cheeks, brushing a thumb over his cheekbones, feeling the soft edge of his lips as he traces the muscles of Dex’s jaw.

The Haus is quiet around them, most of the inhabitants out in class or at a dining hall. The only things Derek can hear is the faint creaking that accompanies any old building, the slight rustling of his t-shirt as he moves, and the slow thumping of his own heart as it beats in his chest. The sun filters through the far windows, catching on the dust motes, creating a little galaxy of daytime stars that dance like sparks in the golden light, drifting in and out of the beams as they move. It’s a reminder that they aren’t frozen in time, caught in this quiet moment when their differences are erased, when comfort is given and taken freely, when Derek feels something he hardly ever lets himself feel.

He watches as Dex’s own chest moves slower and slower as he drifts off to sleep, his lips going just slightly slack the moment he drops away. Derek doesn’t stop moving his fingers, still tracing out light, invisible patterns and gently smoothing away the wayward hairs that fall over Dex’s forehead. He’s still looking down, memorizing the way Dex looks completely different when he’s sleeping, when he hears someone (or two someones, rather) making their way up the creaky house steps. He winces and makes a mental note to tell Dex about that third step, which gives a particularly bitchy whine when pressed.

When Lardo and Chowder appear in the hallway, Chowder midway through a story Farmer told him about jellyfish (???), Derek gives a little cough to get their attention. Lardo doesn’t really give any visible sign of being surprised at the way Dex is passed out in Derek’s lap, but she does pause for a half second before herding Chowder up the stairs.

“Lards, what are y–oh oh my gosh, sorry Nursey, sorry, is that _Dex_? Oh my gosh, wait–” Lardo rolls her eyes fondly and gives Chowder a pointed look, holding a finger to her lips.

“ _Right_.” Chowder whispers, at the exact same level he was speaking at. “ _Okay, gotcha. Quiet time_ ,” he continues. Derek shakes his head affectionately but freezes when he feels Dex shift on his thigh.

He looks down to catch Dex’s little unhappy murmur, the pout on his lips as his eyebrows furrow together, clearly disturbed by the noise. Derek can feel his expression involuntarily softening even as he tries to hold off until Lardo and Chowder are out of the room, so he can at least somewhat maintain his image. He knows how smitten he can look, alright, he’s seen photos. Derek moves his hand again, drawing the pads of his fingers over Dex’s brows as he smooths them into place, waiting until he seems to have settled again before shifting one hand up to card through Dex’s red hair, strands soft between his fingers.

_Cafuné_. Derek’s mama had taught him this word that she had learned during her time in Brazil, saying it had been one of her favorites because it wasn’t exactly translatable into English. “It means running your fingers through the hair of someone you love, _meu amorzinho_ ,” she had said, demonstrating as she tugged a little at his curls. “It’s an act of caring, of comfort. It can feel like more, with the right person,” she had finished with a smile and a kiss to the top of his head.

_Cafuné_. Derek thinks he gets it, now, with Dex warm and heavy in his lap, the sun’s golden light making the entire scene feel honey-slow and amber-bright. He smiles down at the man below him and runs his fingers through his hair again, lightly pushing it away from his face, watching the light play across his eyelashes, catch on his cheeks, highlight his freckles. In the silence, Derek can let himself love him, really love him, for just a few moments more. He lets his own eyes drift closed, one hand still in Dex’s hair as the other comes to rest on the soft material of Dex’s flannel over his chest.

Just before he falls asleep, he feels it – the rhythm of Dex’s heartbeat, thumping solid and strong against his palm.

Directly in time with his own.

He drifts off with a smile on his lips.


End file.
